Baking Day
by AngieT
Summary: Toddler Frodo has his first adventure, gets into trouble, and makes a new friend.


Title:Baking Day

Author:AngieT

AU. Young Frodo. Warning: Those with fluff intolerance should not be reading this story as it is MEGA FLUFF! I have used my favourite line from 'Fellowship' seeing as Peter Jackson did not.

For Lily

Frodo sat on the kitchen table and watched his mother doing the morning bake. In particular he was eyeing the big mixing basin from which she was transferring cake mixture into a cooking pan. He was keeping a close eye on the amounts of raisins that were being left behind in the bowl and making sure she did not scrape too many of them out. Primula set the basin down to transfer the cooking pan to the oven and Frodo pouted that she had put it out of his reach.

"Now, time to do the washing up," she said as though to herself, straightening up and hanging the oven cloth up in its place. "However will I get that bowl clean? All those raisins clinging to the sides."

"Mine!" said a voice distinctly from the kitchen table and Frodo stuck out his hands.

Primula laughed. "What a good idea! Here you go," she handed him the big wooden spoon, all stuck around with sweet, sticky cake mixture and dried fruit and set the bowl next to him on the table.

Drogo entered the neat kitchen just in the middle of this bake day ritual to find Frodo diligently scraping the spoon round the bowl and then licking the delicious mixture off. "That looks good. Can I have some?"

Frodo looked horrified and waved the spoon out of his fathers reach. "No!" he said with as much indignation as a two year old can summon up – which is actually a great deal.

"I will trade you a lick for an Olyphant ride."

Frodo considered, his brow furrowed. "No!"

"You are each as bad as Bilbo," Primula scolded. "Now take the both of you out into the garden and don't come back till tea time."

Frodo sat splayed legged on the grass with the bowl between his permanently scuffed knees and diligently cleaned out every scarp of cake mixture. Only when the last raisin was sucked up did he set down the spoon and look around. Drogo had stretched out by his son's side but was now fast asleep in the warm sunshine.

Frodo tilted himself forwards onto his hands and then pushed his legs straight, sticking his bottom into the air and then pushing off to gain his feet. Standing up Frodo surveyed the inviting vista. The pony track wound its way through green fields, farmer's plots and around gardens and dwellings. The world was a very large place for one small hobbit lad to explore. There was a clump of trees off to his left and the glimmer of the river beyond them.

He had been down to the river before. His parents had taken him to see the new ducklings, tiny scraps of stripy fluff circling around and swimming after their mother all in a row. His Dada had promised to take him to see the ducklings again to see how they had grown. Frodo looked over to his Dada, who had now started snoring. He had never been outside of the garden before on his own but he knew the way, and he wanted to see how the ducks had grown.

Frodo started his adventure for the afternoon by heading to the garden gate. It took him a moment of fiddling to snick the latch on the gate and then he was out onto the lane. With determined action of his chubby legs Frodo headed off towards the grove of trees.

The man sat wrapped in his dark green cloak with his back propped against a tree trunk. He had been foolish to allow himself so far across the boarders so near to dawn and now he was caught. He could not let himself been seen about the Shire during daylight hours and so he was trapped now in this grove of trees. He had been fishing, following the river in persute of something to eat and dawns first light had caught him further into the Shire than he thought. He was cursing his carelessness in both Weston and Sindarin in a voice that sounded remarkably like his foster father's. This was a quiet enough area and he should manage to go unnoticed.

There was a rustling as if a small animal was passing through the low leafy shrubs and the man stiffened. He was still hungry and if he could catch it a rabbit would be a welcome addition to his cook pot tonight once he was back in the wild. It could not be a hobbit because the creature was at once too small and making too much noise. He frowned wondering what it could be – a small dog perhaps. No woodland creature would announce its presence in such a …

There was a snapping noise and then a small cry. Silence hung for a moment and then there came an intake of breath followed by a sobbing noise.

It was a child!

The man froze half in the act of getting to his feet. If it was a child there would be others about and he could not risk exposing himself, but it was hurt! His first instinct was to go to the aid of the creature making those sobbing noises. He waited, straining his ears but could hear no further sounds other than the cries. The little thing was obviously hurt.

He could help himself no longer. The man broke cover and quickly took the few steps towards the crying noise. It took him a moment to locate the source; a tiny little hobbit child was sprawled on his hands and knees by a clump of tall green growth. Stinging nettles! As he watched the little hobbit rocked back onto his bottom and clutched at one of his arms. Already the man could see the prickly sting of red and white splotches forming on the tiny forearm. Then the child looked up.

The man found himself looking into huge blue eyes set in a pale chubby face surrounded by a glossy mob of hair the colour of newly emerged conkers. Seeing the child was not badly hurt and the cries would no doubt alert nearby family. A child so small could not be far away from carers. The man was just about to disappear again when the little hobbit reached out his injured limb and looked up at the man. "Frodo hurts! Kiss better?"

The man had never had anything to do with children. He had been the only child in Inladris, his time spent with caring but decidedly mature elves. But this plea went out to a part of him that he did not even know existed.

He was on his knees in a moment before the little creature which looked at him with the trust only nurtured in the utter safety of his upbringing. The little hobbit lad had no idea there was anything to be feared in a man.

Tears were running down over the trembling full lower lip. He could no more turn his back on this little hobbit than he could fly like an eagle. The man looked round; where there were stinging nettles there was almost always a supply of there counterpart – dock leaves. Sure enough he spotted a clump of the low growing broad-leafed plant and reached over to grab up a handful of the leaves which he bruised.

"May I see your arm?" he asked softly sitting down and crossing his legs and trying to look as unintimidating as he could. The toddler sniffed mightily and then lurched forwards, still holding his reddened arm. The man realised the lads intention and reached out to steady him as the tiny creature plopped himself down in the man's lap. The man gently cradled the arm. The welts were huge against the tiny limb and must sting dreadfully. He could feel the hitching breath of the little body as he gently applied the cooling leaves.

"I am Estel."

Frodo settled back against Estel's chest as the burning sting in his arm lessened and his tears came to a hiccupping halt. With his free hand Estel pulled a clean cloth from his pocked and used it to wipe up the tear tracks, he held the cloth under the button of a nose, "Blow," and Frodo did. "Is that better?"

The dark head nodded, curls bouncing.

"Where is your mother?"

Frodo pointed with his good arm back through the trees where a stretch of grass and some dwellings could be seen. "Bake day."

"Does she know where you are?"

The dark head shook again. Estel sighed. How was he going to get this child back to his home without being spotted himself?

"DROGO!" Drogo woke up, sat bolt upright and stared about him.

"Wot? Where?"

"Where indeed!" cried Primula. "Where is Frodo?"

"He's right…" Drogo turned to indicate the abandoned mixing bowl and spoon.

Primula was rushing by him in a flurry of skirts as Drogo was rubbing the heaviness of sleep from his face. "Oh, the gate!" she cried on discovering it was swinging open in silent testimony to her loss.

"He can't have gone far," his words were belied by the worry in his voice.

"It doesn't take far," Primula twisted her apron in her hands and turning about in a loss. "Where is he? FRODO!"

Drogo gained his feet and came to stand by his wife for a moment. "Steady lass. There's not much harm he can get into around here."

"No, but what if he….. The river! Oh Drogo!" Primula gasped.

"There goes your Brandybuck imagination, always thinking the worse."

"How can you be so calm?" Primula turned on her husband in fury. "If anything… if anything…"

Drogo took his wife by the hand. "Come on then," and ran with her to the open gate.

Frodo had squirmed around in Estel's lap and was looking with interest at his new friend. He had never seen a hobbit so big. Dr Burrows was very wide but this hobbit was twice the height of him. He also had stuff growing on his face and the curl had fallen out of his hair. He must have done something very naughty for that to have happened! He wore strange things too – dull garments all of a faded dark green colour. Frodo looked down at his own bright blue shirt and dark green breaches and as he did so his attention was caught by Estel's feet, or lack thereof. Estel's trousers just went on until they turned into muddy leather but no nice, furry feet stuck out of the bottom of them.

Frodo pointed with horror. "No feet!" and promptly burst into tears again.

"Oh no. There little one. It's alright. I have feet." Estel struggled to sooth. Holding Frodo in the crook of one arm he straightened his long leg and worked off one of his boots. The sock thus presented was not very reassuring, so he pulled that off too and wiggled his toes for Frodo. "See – I have feet."

Frodo stopped crying and looked with alarm at the dirty and hair free foot thus presented for his inspection. He was not impressed. He knew that hobbit toddler who did not eat their carrots had their foot hair fall out. He felt very sorry for his new friend.

"Eat carrots – grow back," he said and reached out to pat the poor naked foot. On his way back to Estel he picked up the discarded sock and popped it onto his own foot, it pulled up and over his knee and reached up to the top of his thigh where it punched up unable to progress any further.

"Now there's a pretty thing to wrap an Elven Princeling it," Estel laughed and Frodo clapped his hands in delight as he added his own shrill laughter to Estel's deep one.

"I hear him!"

Estel stiffened. A voice was coming from the edge of the spinney. A woman's voice. Carefully Estel set Frodo onto the ground and grabbed up his boot. He paused unable to stop himself and caressed the soft full cheek and Frodo looked up at his and smiled radiantly. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," whispered Estel and was gone.

"Frodo!" Primula caught up her little lad and hugged him close.

"Mummy!" Frodo cried in delight.

Drogo, rather short of breath, panted up behind his wife.

"Frodo lad. You mustn't wander off like that," Primula scolded, hugging Frodo close and kissing his face and neck. Frodo clutched her hair and pressed his cheek to hers.

"No worry," he told her.

Still kissing and scolding Primula turned to carry her son out from eh shelter of the trees and back up the slops to their smial.

"What's this," asked Drogo noting the dock leaves still clinging to his son's arm. "And this!" he was even more startled by the presence of some sort of wholly garment on Frodo's leg.

Primula picked off the leaves and looked at the remains of the stinking nettle rash. She frowned in puzzlement. "How could he have possible known to use dock leaves?" She looked back into the spinney but could see no signs of another hobbit.

"And who put this on him?" Drogo pulled the sock free but Frodo clutched at it. "Mine!"

"What is it?" Primula asked.

"It's a sock," said Drogo. "I saw one once at Bilbo's. One of his dwarf friends left it behind."

Frodo grabbed his sock and waved it in the air. "Estel!" he laughed. "Frodo say to eat carrots."

Drogo sighed. "Some how I think this is one of those mysteries we are never going to get to the bottom of."

"Well, there's cake for tea and I have my little lad back," said Primula. Frodo waved his treasure in her face. "And I now one thing – what ever that came from it is going into the wash as soon as we get back."

When dusk started to cast its mantle over the Shire a large shadow made its swift way from out of the cover of the spinney and vanished into the gloom. By the time it reached the borders of the Shirt and slipped into safety it had a blister forming on one toe where his boot was rubbing against his bare foot.

Away back, sheltered in safety, a little hobbit lad lay curled up in his bed, a freshly washed sock clutched tightly in his sleeping fist.

The end


End file.
